The Thing About Demons
by Impala-Dreamer
Summary: The demon's words would not leave you; they mingled with your own thoughts, pushing you towards the darkness. Maybe he was right, maybe you were worthless, pathetic and should just fade away... Reader insert, WARNINGS: suicidal thoughts, depression, few bad words. M for subject matter just to be safe. A.K.F. Y.A.N.A.


_Exorcizamus te, Omnis Immundus Spiritus, Omnis Santanica Potestas…_

The thing about demons is, you can't listen to them. They lie; they will say whatever they can think of to break you down and get what they want, even if what they want is literally to break you.

But the worst thing about demons is: sometimes they tell the truth. They dig down deep inside your soul and pull out all the things you have hidden there and they throw them back in your face. They say the things you've never even said to yourself. The pain, the fear, the hurt, they take it all and roll it up and shove it down your throat. And you know you can't listen to them; you know no matter what they say it's all wrong, but you do. You can't stop yourself from listening and then later, once the bastard is gone back to hell the words start creeping back into your head.

 _Omnis Incursio Infernalis Adversarii, Omnis Congregatio et Secta Diabolica…_

You tell yourself it's just the demon, it's just lies, but you know it's not. You know it's the truth. You are worthless, you are irreparably scared and flawed and you can't actually save anyone. All the fighting is for naught, you make no difference in the world, in the end you'll fade away and no one will remember you, no one will mourn you, and no one will be the least bit affected by your time on this rock. These are the things the demon makes you think about, even after he's gone.

You'd been hunting for years. Nothing had affected you like this before, not even seeing your best friend ripped apart by a werewolf, which is what started you on this journey in the first place. How many demons had you faced and sent packing back to hell? You weren't sure why this one was getting to you. Maybe because you'd already been thinking these things, but pushing them away, keeping them down deep in your subconscious.

 _Ergo Draco Maledicte, Ut Ecclesiam Tuam Servire…_

* * *

You beat your alarm that morning by more than twenty minutes, giving up on attempting to sleep. You spent the night tossing and turning and staring at the blank ceiling above your bed, trying in vain to push the horrid thoughts out of your head. You decided to play the day as usual; you weren't going to worry the boys with your crap. Besides, they'd think you were weak and couldn't handle this life, and maybe they were right.

You hurried along to the kitchen, tiptoeing through the halls as to not wake Sam. Dean was probably up already but you didn't want to bother him either. The floor was cold on your bare feet but it felt good, it felt like _something_ , which was better than what you had been feeling lately.

You tried to be as quiet as possible while you cooked breakfast for everyone. Nothing fancy, the usual scrambled eggs and bacon and toast. You even cut up some fruit for Sam and made a little salad. You laid everything out nicely on the kitchen table and sat down to wait for the boys.

It was too quiet and your mind slipped off course, tracking back over the tragic play you couldn't let go. You and the brothers had been trailing a trio of demons that were on a little vacation from Hell; their on-shore activity of choice being kidnapping and slaughtering families with young children. They had taken their third family from the same town by the time you caught up to them, found where they were and gone in to save the day. Sam had stabbed two of the demons upon arrival, leaving you and Dean going to rescue the family that had been tied up in another part of the house. You were able to save the father, barely, but the mother and two little girls were already gone. Dean decided to have a little chat with the remaining abomination before sending him back to the pit, so he was trapped and tied while Sam tended to the distraught father. Dean cut, and you read, slowly exorcising the beast while he taunted you, ignoring Dean's torture and questioning and focusing on the weakest link: you. He pulled things from your mind that you didn't even know, diving into your soul and ripping it apart.

Your head began to throb in the bright light of the kitchen and you gave up waiting for them; gave up trying to pretend you were ok. You left the table went back to you room. Sam was emerging from his room as you walked back, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, smiling at you. "Good Morning!" He said, voice echoing with cheer through the empty hallway. You smiled and nodded, not stopping your journey back to bed. "Hey, Y/N?" Sam called after you, but you didn't turn. You weren't ready for today after all.

Your bed was cool and you slipped back under the blanket, pulling it up over your head. Just like the night before images of the demon returned to your mind in the dark.

* * *

"You got everyone killed. It's your fault. Those people over there? Dead, because you weren't fast enough. You didn't get here in time and they're dead."

 _Tibi Facias Libertate Secura, Te Rogamus…_

The demon shrugged, laughing at you: "Send me back to hell, it doesn't change the fact that you killed them."

 _Audi Nos!_

* * *

In and out, in and out; you were consciously breathing, making sure that the air came in and then exited your lungs. You could control that little piece of today: making sure your body received the oxygen it needed. There wasn't much else you could control. Not your own mind that kept replaying the bloody scene. Not the demon's voice that kept punching holes through you, dragging you through hot coals with each repeat. It was tearing you up inside, gouging through your soul, clawing at you.

You didn't know how long you lay in bed, you didn't care to look at the clock or check your phone or do anything but try to become one with your pillow. If you willed it, could you just melt into the bed and stay there forever? What was the point of getting back up anyway?

There was a quiet knock on your door and a voice called your name. It was muffled through the door and the layers of blankets covering your head.

You didn't answer. You kept your head down, pushing your face further into the cotton pillowcase. It was hard to breathe, but you liked the struggle, the burning in your lungs felt good, it felt like _something._

The door opened and you heard heavy booted feet shuffle in. The bed dipped as your visitor sat next to you on the mattress. "Y/N?" It was Dean. You didn't make a sound of acknowledgment, you only shifted a little so he wasn't sitting right on top of you. He put his hand on your where he assumed your back was and tried again. "Hey, Y/N, can you come out and talk to me?"

"I don't really want to." You said quietly, any louder and you knew the tears would spring back up to choke you.

"Well how 'bout I come in there then?" Dean pulled at the corner of your blanket and lifted it up, trying to stick his head under. You laughed despite yourself and threw the covers back, sitting up and looking at your friend.

"There you are!" He smiled. "What the hell are you doing in here all day?"

You ran your hand over your hair to try and smooth it down. You knew you must have looked like a banshee. You looked down and away from Dean, not wanting to look him in the eyes. "Nothing. Napping I guess."

"Huh." Dean tilted his head trying to draw your attention to him. "You know we could use your help, got a case brewing in Indiana we might go check out."

You sighed and finally looked up, his green eyes meeting yours with friendly concern. "Yeah, probably not. I'm… gonna stay here I think. Get back to my pillow."

"OK." Dean said. He slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up, walking towards the door. You watched him leave and felt a crushing weight land on your chest, you lost the battle against your tears and they came flooding out of you, the loneliness and hurt taking over everything. You let out a pathetic cry and threw your hands up over your face. Dean turned back and quickly sat back down beside you.

"Hey, sweetheart, what's wrong?" He said, putting his hands cautiously hand on your shoulders. You couldn't speak; only gasping sobs came out of your mouth. Dean gripped your arms and pulled you forward, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you tight. "Please…relax Y/N, it's OK. Whatever it is, it'll be OK."

You pushed back, breaking his hold on you. "I don't think it's gonna be OK Dean." Your voice was harder, meaner than you meant it to be, but that's what was coming out through your tears. "I'm garbage. I'm no good to you guys, no good to anyone."

Dean looked at you with true confusion in his eyes. "No Y/N, no. That's not true at all. What are you talking about? We need you." He shook his head, trying to understand you.

You bit your lip and pushed back some of the waterworks. "You don't need me. You were fine before me, you'll be fine when I'm gone." You shook your head, looking down at your hands. "I fucked up. That family died because we weren't fast enough. Because I slowed you down. I got my best friend killed, my family hates me, I've got nothing. I'm not worth the air it's taking to keep me talking right now." Dean tried to take your hand but you batted him away. The tears were drying up but you could not stop your soliloquy. "I can't…keep pretending that I'm doing any good. I'm not supposed to be here, I'm not good at this. Hell I'm not good at anything."

"Y/N…"

"No, it's the truth. That demon was right, damn it but he was. Everything he said was right. I'm just a stupid little girl trying to play with the big kids and gonna get everyone hurt cause I don't know what I'm doing. I'm not worth it. At all."

"Y/N."

"I'm not Dean and you know it."

"Will you shut your damn mouth for a second woman!" Dean snapped at you, breaking your train of thought and you shut your mouth, your eyes wide and wet as you looked up at him. "You are not worthless. Or any of those things you just said." He grabbed your hand, not letting you pull away again. "That demon…he was trying to get to you, and you let him. You know you can't listen to them. You know that."

"They tell the truth Dean." Water was dripping down your face again; you pushed at it with your free hand, trying to clear your eyes.

"That's bullshit. They are demons. By definition they are evil and do what they can to fuck you up." Dean lowered his head and raised his eyes to scan your face. "You are a good person. You are a good hunter. We need you. You do not slow us down, you make us better. You take care of us. No one has ever taken care of us before, no one. Not like you do. We need you."

You shook your head, not believing a word he said. "I want to die." Your voice was low, barely a whisper. "I think about it all the time. Just letting go and fading away so everyone can get on with their lives without me in the way."

You took a deep breath and looked back up at him. Dean's eyes were red, filling with tears to mirror your own. His hand tightened around yours. "Please don't talk like that," he said. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, struggling to find the right words. "Y/N, I could tell you a thousand times how much we love you and need you, but if you don't believe it, I don't know what else to say. That demon was wrong and you're wrong to listen to him. You can't leave. You can't give up. I won't let you. I know people; I'll call in some favors and bring you right back. Hell, Chuck kinda owes me one." He gave a quick little laugh, wiping away a tear that landed on his cheek. "I don't want to lose you."

Watching the tears pool in his green eyes just about destroyed you: how could this strong, amazing man be crying over you? Maybe he was right, maybe you were worth it. "I…I'm sorry Dean." You choked out the words, giving in to your sorrow again.

"You have nothing to be sorry about Y/N." He replied and pulled you to him. You scooted forward in the bed and fell against him, burrowing your face against his neck. He kissed your forehead and rubbed your back as you cried, letting it all go, releasing the hurt and pain and worry; all the demon's words and all of your own dark ideas flowed out of you onto Dean's red flannel shirt.

"I love you kid." He whispered into your hair, still holding on to you tightly, not letting you go.

"I love you too Dean. Thanks."

* * *

It wasn't OK yet. You weren't one hundred percent, maybe you would never be, but you could try. You could get up every morning and make breakfast. You could get dressed and meet the day. You could go out face the monsters and evil head-on, saving as many people as you could. Maybe you'd fail, but you would keep trying; because you had people that needed you, people that loved you, and you couldn't let them down.


End file.
